


Resurface

by eriathiel



Series: Fools [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Minor Violence, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 10:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11034015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eriathiel/pseuds/eriathiel
Summary: It was one thing to accept death when it was an inevitability, but quite another to run towards it with open arms. No, she would walk through the snow until she no longer could - and then she’d damn well crawl. There were many people who she owed that much, at least.





	Resurface

The fear left her once she was out of the Chantry. Well, most of it. She suspected it would return when the moment came to order the others - her newfound friends - to leave. Evelyn just hoped they’d listen. It made sense that this was to be her ultimate role in the Inquisition, she considered at the back of her mind as she sent a ball of fire into the side of a Red Templar who was charging towards Cassandra. She was well known enough for her death to spur on their soldiers, for it to actually mean something, given the right nudge (which she didn’t doubt her advisers were able to give)...yet on the other hand, she didn’t quite have the connections or a skill set unique enough that might be sorely missed. With the exception of the mark, of course, but with Solas on their side no doubt they’d work out an alternative way of dealing with the remaining rifts. She hoped. At least they’d already dealt with the breach. What did she know was that whether Andraste had willed it or not, she’d happily give her life if it meant saving everybody else. What was one person in comparison to an entire village? One full of people who, for the most part, had been nothing but kind and helpful to her.  
  
Bull’s axe flew past her head and she rolled out of the way as it sank into the skull of a Red Templar who’d been sneaking up behind her. Blood sprayed, hot against her face, and she stopped thinking.  
  
When the time did come, and Evelyn hollered at Cassandra, Bull, and Varric to run, she thanked the Maker that they listened. Varric hesitated when he saw the way the blast threw her, but she met his eye (as best as she could with the disorientation) and willed him to continue, hoping he knew how grateful he’d been for his endless kindness. Especially in the beginning when even eye contact with her new company had required bravery. She watched her friends depart through the flames, and then gathered her strength to rise and find out exactly what they were dealing with.   
  
Her fear had reappeared with the archdemon, and swelled in her chest as she stared at the silhouette of what could only be described as a monster making its approach. Scrambling backwards without fully even meaning to, she was only driven into a u-turn when the monster’s pet swooped down and clambered towards her, shrieking bloody murder with those terrible fangs barely even a foot from her face. Evelyn steeled herself. Now was not the time for fear. The time for fear had been in the Chantry, when they had to come up with a plan, and were stuck with what they thought was no way out. Now? Now the die was cast. Stuck between a monster and an archdemon, she couldn’t change what would happen next. All she could control was how she felt, and she’d be damned if she chose fear - if she died on his terms. That would be giving this thing what it wanted.   
  
Evelyn straightened up, took a deep breath and stared it in the face.   
  
“Whatever you are, I’m not afraid of you,” she snarled.

* * *

  
Right leg. Left leg. One step, then another, and another after that. Evelyn drove every ounce of energy and willpower she had into walking. Not on the cold, or the aches emanating from her injuries now that the adrenaline was gone...and certainly not on the insidious voice in the back of her mind, whispering for her to just give up. She couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t. It was one thing to accept death when it was an inevitability, but quite another to run towards it with open arms. No, she would walk until she no longer could - and then she’d damn well crawl. There were many people who she owed that much, at least.  
  
Her brothers, who she’d sworn she’d see again one day. Dorian, who was still very much ill at ease with most people but herself in Haven, no matter how well he hid it. Varric, who’d made a point of trying to make her feel as welcome as possible from the very beginning, even before her innocence was established. Bull, who’d thrown himself between her and too many enemies to count. Even Cassandra, who would doubtlessly find a way to blame herself if Evelyn did die. There was a final face that sprang to mind, taking advantage of the fact that she was too weak to push it away like she normally would. Commander Cullen Rutherford. With eyes unlike any she’d ever seen, that damned smirk that made her feel like a child with a crush every time she saw it, and a disposition that made her feel safe just by sharing a room with him.   
  
It’d be a barefaced lie to pretend she hadn’t begun to develop feelings for him. From what she could gather in the rare times she did allow herself to dwell on it, he was at least slightly fond of her too. To think that she might never know if anything could have ever come from it felt like a lot of wasted potential. In that moment, even not knowing felt worse than the prospect of rejection, which had previously been her biggest fear. Her mind was growing foggy, acknowledging little but the fact that she was continuing to put one foot in front of the other. Slowly, it wandered back to their last - their final? - encounter.   
  
“If we are to have a chance - if you are to have a chance,” he stared at her meaningfully “Let that thing hear you!”  
  
Evelyn’s mouth opened a little, hesitating as time seemed to freeze, still maintaining eye contact. Something seemed to flicker there, and his hand twitched at his side as though he was about to reach out to her.   
  
“Cullen-” Evelyn began, but was cut off by an ungodly screech from outside.  
  
That was when time unfroze, and she was suddenly aware of the chaos around them once more. Turning her attention back to Cullen, she caught a look on his face that somehow managed to mingle hope and fear. Fear for her, or for their situation? Both, she wagered. But the moment had passed, and the terror over what she was about to do - willingly or not - had made her mouth run dry. In the end, she settled for a nod before spinning and marching out of the Chantry, fearing that if she didn’t leave quickly then she wouldn’t leave at all. Now she regretted the way she’d left things. But what else could she have done? Bare her heart in front of everybody? Dump all of that on him and then run off to her death, leaving him with the weight of that in the midst of an impossible situation? No, she’d done the right thing...But the feeling of lost potential remained.   
  
Her teeth chattered almost too much for her to sob in relief when she spotted the remains of the fire. It was out, but the embers were still warm to the touch. Fighting the temptation to bury her hands into the newfound source of warmth, she forced herself back to her feet and continued to stumble forwards. When she reached the top of the mountain pass, and the light from the fires came into view, she almost didn’t believe her eyes.   
  
“Evelyn? Evelyn!”   
  
For a moment she was too dazed to register Cullen running towards her as best he could in the deep snow, the light almost blinding her after who knew how long of wandering in the dark. What her mind had no trouble registering was that there was no need to fight now. Whatever emergency supply of energy she’d been running on was drained from her, and she sank to her knees in the snow, weeping in pure relief.   
  
“I’ve found the Herald!” Cullen hollered over his shoulder, discarding the torch he carried, which hissed as the snow put it out.   
  
By the time he reached her, he’d yanked his mantle from around his shoulders and was pulling it tightly around her. She didn’t fight as she was swept up into his arms so he could carry her bridal-style.   
  
“Thank the maker!” She heard Cassandra sigh in relief.  
  
“She’s freezing, we need to get to a healer,” Cullen sounded uncharacteristically shaken, pulling her tighter to him as she buried her face into his shoulder both for warmth and to hide her tears.  
  
“It’s alright, you’re safe, it’s over,” he murmured in hushed, soothing tones into her hair.  
  
Even has he moved, her tears were giving way to haziness, which in turn gave way to darkness.  
  
“Get out of the way! Maker’s breath, move!” She was half-aware of him lifting his head to snarl at onlookers before she finally gave in and accepted the nothingness.  


* * *

  
She’d been awake for two hours - the first of which was spent sobbing as Mother Giselle held her in a more comforting manner than her real mother ever had - when she next saw him. Cullen’s shadow against the front of her tent wasn’t distinct without the mantle, which lay atop the blanket of her cot. She watched as he slowly approached, hesitated as his hand brushed against one of the tent flaps, and then lowered the hand again.   
  
“...Cullen?” She called softly and unsurely, just in case it wasn’t him.  
  
The figure stiffened, and then relaxed before the hand slipped into the tent, lifting the fabric aside to reveal the Inquisiton’s Commander, looking incredibly weary.  
  
“Are you alright?” She asked, brow furrowing as he stepped inside and occupied the stool beside the cot.  
  
He exhaled loudly in a show of exasperated amusement, looking her with a fondness that stunned her as he shook his head.  
  
“I should be asking you that,” he gave her a careful once over, a sort of softness flickering in his eyes when their gazes met.  
  
Absentmindedly, her fingers wove into the fur of the mantle, taking comfort in its warmth and softness.   
  
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, feeling heat rise in her cheeks.  
  
“Whatever for?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  
  
“I cried,” she stared at him, dumbfounded “All over you.”  
  
Much to her surprise, he laughed quietly, shaking his head “You’ve no cause to apologise for that. In fact, please don’t.”  
  
She wanted to argue, but chose not to. Crying in front of Mother Giselle had been bad enough, but weeping all over Cullen? Whatever fate Corypheus had in store for her might’ve been less painful after all. He seemed to sense her embarrassment, and continued softly.  
  
“I see it a lot in soldiers, you know - after battles, I mean,” it was perhaps the most gentle and informal she’d ever seen him, and that comforted feeling she’d begun to get around him increased tenfold.  
  
“Really?” She blinked in surprise, hands stilling.  
  
“Yes,’’ he nodded “As you’ll well know, in battle - and situations like the one you were just put through - you can’t let your emotions get the better of you. Either your head remains clear, or you die. So...your only choice is to suppress those emotions, and deal with them once the danger has passed. Once you feel safe.”  
  
“...Thank you,” she accepted, eyes lowering and fingertips resuming their movements.   
  
He said nothing, but looked pleased.  
  
“Are you alright, though?” She pressed, trying to sit up a little more with a wince.  
  
The healer’s remedies were beginning to take effect, and Solas had done what he could with magic, but given their situation she could only be given the bare minimum. Their resources were stretched thin, and they didn’t know how long they’d be out here. Of course, Evelyn understood and wouldn’t want it any other way. That just didn’t make it any more enjoyable. Cullen quickly moved to assist her, tentatively placing a supportive hand on her arm as she shifted. Whilst her clothes dried, she’d been changed by one of the healers into a rather matronly nightgown, but now that she was alone with Cullen, it felt like wildly inappropriate attire. It was only when she settled that she noticed their close proximity and blushed anew.  
  
“...Cullen?” She asked.  
  
“Yes?” He asked, his voice raspy, and then coughed bashfully “I mean, yes?”  
  
“You didn’t answer my question,” she pointed out.   
  
Now it was his turn to flush, looking away as he settled back down onto the stool “It’s been...a long night. I don’t have to tell you that.”  
  
He shifted, visibly reluctant, and so she gestured for him to continue.   
  
“After I- We found you, when I was bringing you back...you fainted.”  
  
“I remember.”  
  
“I thought...for a moment…” he sighed and shook his head “It’s silly. I should leave you to rest.”  
  
He moved as though to stand, and without fully meaning to she reached out and placed a stilling hand on his forearm “Tell me? Please?”  
  
At first he didn’t react, and she quickly withdrew her hand, biting her lip and wondering which of her injuries or remedies she could blame for her apparent compulsion to make a complete fool out of herself around him. Half-expecting him to leave immediately to spend the night questioning her inappropriate behaviour, her heart neatly jumped into her throat when instead Cullen sat down again and reached out, taking one of her hands and squeezing it gently before letting go with a sigh.  
  
“You went limp, and for a moment...Well, I feared the worst,” he admitted, unable to look at her.  
  
“...Oh,’ she watched him do his best to mask a pained expression and wished she hadn’t pushed the issue “I’m sorry.”  
  
After the amount of friends and colleagues he’d lost in battle and tragedy, she was sure it had stirred up a great deal of unpleasant memories. They’d never spoken of it in depth, but he knew enough.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.  
  
“For fainting?” He looked at her now, an amused look in place.  
  
“You know what I mea-” she began to snort.  
  
“Herald?” They both jumped when Cassandra’s voice came from outside.  
  
“I shouldn’t keep you from your queue of well wishers,” he smirked at her, stirring those damned butterflies again, as he rose.  
  
“People might not recognise you without this,” she lifted the mantle, offering it to him.  
  
“Keep it for now,” he waved a hand “We weren’t able to salvage many decent blankets, and your hands are cold.”  
  
“What about you?”  
  
“Oh, I won’t have any time to rest, never mind worry about the cold, between Josephine and Leliana.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Very. Just get well soon and save me from them,” he teased.  
  
“Goodnight, Cullen,” she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.   
  
“Goodnight Evelyn,” his smirk widened into a smile, and then he was gone.  
  
The butterflies were still at it by the time she was deep in conversation with Cassandra. 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I'd intended to put a paragraph or two from Cullen's perspective at the end, but it just felt unnecessary. I'm making an effort to write more lately, and so I've been using one word prompts to write Cullen one-shots, so there should be a lot more posted soon! 
> 
> I also tried to keep writing out in-game dialogue to a minimum, because I think a lot of us could recite it in our sleep by this point :')


End file.
